It's been a while since I came back from the University of Wyoming and I have to say everything has been unforgettable. There are several times I dreamed about the old days that we raced together and coaches cheered for us. But it’s not real which made me depressed. This is the most precious pearl in my memory. I do miss skiing on the snow, like flying in the sky .There are sunshine , birds, and animals I don’t even know its name, everything is just right, as if in the magic world. Now I am busy looking for a job and graduation, but every time I think of snow, I feel very sacred, and my heart is very peaceful and quiet. I have to say that I really miss my coaches and teammates a lot. They are the most beautiful scenery in my journey. They have taught me a lot both in skiing and life. I will keep this precious experience in my heart and wish all the best for my caring people over the Pacific! Love you all!
I love being outside. But sometimes, it’s kind of hard to drag myself out the door and get started. I always feel better after I’ve spent some time hiking or backpacking or skiing. That’s why when I came to college, the ski team was such a big part of my self-regulation. We traveled together. We spent practice in the mountains going on long trail runs or gorgeous skis. We would wake up early and start the day with a jog and strength workout or get through a long week with core and yoga in the evenings. It’s was easy to be outside all the time when I just had to be ready to jump in Zima and spend the day hanging out with the team.
I admit that the constant schedule for an outdoor adventure was something I really missed when I packed my life into boxes and moved to Spain for a semester. It was wonderful in a different way, until it wasn’t. A year ago, the world stopped. As many people familiar with lockdowns can attest, being trapped inside a small apartment does something to you psychologically. The fact that I was isolated with a family I’d met only weeks before in a country I was still new to was really just fuel to the fire. After the first few days, I was daydreaming about going for runs through the city. Which would be fairly normal, except that I hate running. The itch to go outside, do anything outside, was becoming unbearable. There was a near-constant ache in my chest for the days of ski camps, where I’d wake up to the sounds of Ella’s laughter or the smell of coach’s oats and then spend the day outside, surrounded by snow and the gentle sound of skis in tracks. I was jonesing for the mountains. In fact, it was the first time in my life I’d ever been homesick.
So when I finally took the treacherous journey through three airports and a hotel to get back to Wyoming, I thought I would feel better. The mountains were there, right in my backyard. I could go on runs (or less torturous activities) to my heart’s content. But the switch had flipped. I couldn’t stand to leave the house. It was more than that initial hurdle to get dressed and drive to the trail. All I could think about was the family I left behind. As the days added up, I thought of my young host sister, who hadn’t left her apartment even for a walk in weeks. Is there a term for guilt about being able to go outside? As I paced my childhood home in some sort of sad solidarity, I only felt worse. But the idea of hiking a trail or just walking around the yard felt exhausting to me. The trauma of March knocked me down hard. I spent the spring trying just to sleep through the night and not gasp for breath every time I woke up and remembered the world was radically changed.
After 6 weeks, my host sister was finally allowed to go for walks outside. Still, the old version of me who spent hours every week in the mountains was nowhere to be found. When I moved back to Laramie for the summer, I was finally beginning to feel like myself again. I wasn’t living out of a suitcase. I slept in my own bed. And when I finally got settled, I woke up one June morning and drove to the mountains. When I reached the trailhead, there was my ski team.
For all those afternoons of Spanish lockdown where I daydreamed about adventures outside, I hadn’t actually been out in the mountains since I’d gotten home. But that summer morning, I remembered what it felt like to be a part of an outdoor community. There was the whole SUS team, smiling at me. There were Christi and Rachel, ready to hear all about the last few months of my life on our run. There were all the other skiers I’d missed.
I took a deep breath. The air smelled like pine and sunlight and home. And I started to run. Slowly, that March girl started to melt away into the woods.
The week of nationals is always a trying time of the year for Nordic ski racers. I have had my fair share of stressful race weeks throughout a 15-year racing career ranging from junior nationals, to USCSA collegiate nationals, and a few endeavors overseas to the world university games. Nationals during the spring of 2020 was a new experience for me though, I would be approaching this week through a new perspective. I was now a coach.
While some races are forgotten almost as soon as they are over, others stick in the memory bank like klister to the base of a ski. I’m unsure exactly what criteria my brain chooses to filter which races are special enough to remember. Maybe it is specific accomplishments in the race, or events that unfolded between teammates within the race, or even such challenging conditions that grittiness plays a bigger factor than any wax ever could. I may never know exactly, but I do know that the 15km classic race in Lake Placed during nationals will forever stay in my mind. One of the few races that has made its way in since transitioning from athlete to coach.
That race started as it always does for coaches, in the wax room the night before. We had tested glide waxes over the racecourse at various times of the day, and finally decided on the perfect wax for the morning. The conditions were supposed to be very challenging the next day. Just about freezing, rain/snow, and as always in the east, very icy man-made trails. We needed wax that was warm, tough enough for surviving being slowly ripped off by ice for 15km, and that had the ability to repel dirt since it hadn’t snowed in a few days. Yellow black wolf was the choice for the day. My fellow coach Bryan and I spent hours in the wax room putting 3 layers of wax on each ski. A warm base wax to help open the ski pores, slightly cooler wax to harden the base, then the black wolf to make the skis rocket fast. The skis all still needed kick wax and structure (grooves in the ski base to help the ski base better repel water and reduce suction), but that was a job for the morning and for the wax goddesses Christi Boggs (snowflake) and Rachel Watson (the cougar). Rachel had been testing kick waxes all week long and had a series of waxes ready for the morning testing to hopefully find the perfect wax for our skiers.
We got to the racecourse about 2.5 hours before the race that morning and got to work. Bryan and I set up the waxing station while Christi and Rachel slapped on some wax and did initial tests on a few of the nearby hills. After they had narrowed in on the wax it was up to Bryan and I to test out some toppers, or the very last coat of wax applied. We went through our normal wax-testing motions. Ski a section of the course, change each ski to the other foot, ski again, trade with the other person, ski again, change skis to the other foot, and finally one person gets the best ski from each pair to hone in the best wax in the group. We are looking for how sticky the ski is, how much glide it has, if it changes drastically with different snow conditions (shady or sunny), how durable it is, and how it does in vs. out of the tracks. We had found what we were sure was going to be the winning wax but there was a problem, it had started precipitating. It felt like half snow half rain and was coming down in a way that we just knew would last all day.
Back at the wax bench we gave Rachel our wax recommendations. I could see a little panic in her face as she was contemplating the wax with the new weather conditions but being one of the most knowledgeable people about klister in the world we all have nothing but confidence for her incredible wax decisions. One of the best things about Christi is how she somehow manages to think of any possible options and have something up her sleeve to handle things as they come. So, while Rachel was thinking about endless klister combinations to give the skis the perfect combo of kick and glide, Christi sent Bryan and I back out to test both zeros and hairies. Zeros have a strip of what looks like sandpaper on the base where the wax pocket is, and hairies are made from roughing up a normal ski kick zone with sandpaper and then adding a hardening substance like silicon so that the hairs on the sanded surface stay standing. Both these options are used when the snow is right about 0 C and there is new snow falling. These options both turned out to have slightly worse kick than the klister, but seemingly better glide. We provided Christi and Rach with our new results and now the coaches race was about to start.
As the male athletes arrived (they raced first) and started warming up we gave them a few options about their race skis, slightly less glide but more kick or slightly less kick but more glide. It seemed like we had an almost even split of racers wanting klister, zeros, and hairies. We spent the next hour applying wax as fast as humanly possible. Rachel and Christi were applying klister, Bryan and I were preparing the zeros and the hairies while also adding structure to the glide zone of all the skis. As mass start classic waxing always happens, it was right down to the wire. We were finishing the last of the men’s skis as the racers were lining up to start, and I even ran the last pair down to one of our athletes named Leon and got him clipped in with about 2 minutes to go. They were off!
The weather did not let up throughout the men’s race. I believe the conditions that day were the most challenging racing conditions that exist in the world of Nordic skiing. Absolutely drenched from the rain, skiing through pine needles, leaves, and puddles, dealing with washed out icy downhills and chopped up slushy corners, the skiers all fought with everything they had. I have images burned in my mind of Nathan and Silas striding up the hill, both having great days but basically skiing blind from soaked hair in their eyes. Ben and Matthew were each slipping but showing what we lovingly call grit and giving the race everything they had anyways. All our racers from Shanghai, who had just started skiing that year, were looking so strong! Harry smiled as he ran past a racer from another team on the steep uphill I was standing on. Shortly after, Andy came whizzing by on a downhill right behind James and yelled at me “I didn’t fall this lap!”. It was easy to see how much fun everyone was having even though the conditions were less than ideal. A common theme began to appear. Every one of our skiers was actually enjoying themselves, despite the adverse weather, some not having much kick, and poor snow conditions.
Maybe this race stuck in my mind because it was such a hard day and yet all our athletes seemed to truly love being there in that moment. It’s easy to be happy as a racer when your skis are fast, the sun is shining, and you are feeling on top of your game. But is a true test of character to enjoy the race when every external factor sucks. I was so proud to be a part of the Wyoming team! After the guys finished they all changed clothes and got back out in the weather to cheer on the ladies. We went through the same waxing challenges with the ladies skis, but most of them ended on klister after getting tips from the guys. Ella looked strong and poised, Kat was beasting her way up the hills passing girl after girl, and Maddy was looking smooth in her stride, and gave me a confident smile when I cheered for her knowing there was a lot of double pole in this course which is one of her strong suits. The rest of the girls followed the same trend as the guys, each one looked in their element despite the rain still coming down strong.
While I have had very memorable racing days due to similar weather situations, that feeling of overcoming everything stacked against you and still racing to your fullest isn’t really something you can really explain or teach an athlete as a coach. That specific feeling must be earned. I think this day was so special to me because I got to watch each skier find that feeling through the 6 laps on the rain-soaked course. Getting to observe that growth from the coaching view was 1000 times better than any achievement I have had as an athlete. Even though the results from that day weren’t exactly what everyone was hoping for, it is still on of the favorite races of my life.
The hardest part of being on a high is falling back down. Peaking, in a sports setting, is where you take all of your training from the previous year and use it to preform at your most optimal. Peaking can make you feel invincible in your sport, but just a few days later you can feel at your lowest. As we went into our national competition we were prepared to peak, and then to fall off our peaks, but we were met with a new low.
COVID-19 was something so far from our minds as we traveled to Lake Placid, NY. We were giddy with the excitement of competing with our teammates in a much larger stage than we had all season. Our van was full of energy, as we sat with no masks much closer than six feet. Our team got to experience the last moments before COVID changed everything together. That is something that in reflection I am really grateful for, but I still wasn't prepared for such an abrupt ending.
In the middle of our week long competition we got some news that USCSA was canceling our last race, because New York state had declared a state of emergency. I've never fallen of my peak as fast as I did in that moment. My heart sank and my head fell along with the rest of my teammates. I am lucky that I had a close knit group to experience this disappointment with, but soon I wouldn't have them by my side.
After our final race, cut a day short, we packed into a caravan of rental cars and started the long drive from New York to Wyoming. It was a tough drive that spanned too many days for me, but there were some fond memories. I found myself in many restaurants across the nation sitting with what would now be too many people. I got to hug my friends and be in public without a mask. Things still now we aren't able to do. Those were the good memories, but the second we got back home it was different. Our goodbyes were abrupt and rushed. Thinking that we would just see one another next week at practice. We couldn't quite comprehend the fundamental changes that were about to happen. So that day I said a lot of my last goodbyes and it was hard.
SUS skiers and UW skiers alike were about to go their separate ways and hunker down for a quarantine. The freshmen were even kicked out of the dorms and had to return to their hometowns. For a while it felt like I wouldn't see my people ever again, and that was isolating. Going from having twenty people that new exactly how you were feeling by your side, to just a few people that made it into your bubble was a hard transition. And while I do regret my goodbyes not being ideal I try and focus on what was happening right before we went our separate ways. I'll treasures those times and let them warm my heart for years to come.
Sprint days can be one of the most draining race experiences for Nordic skiers. While the athletes are only racing for around 1k, they could participate in up to four races that can last all day. Fighting fatigue is the name of the game, and having endurance is as important as knowing how to sprint.
I've had an ever changing relationship with sprints though my ski career. It can be fun to ski fast, but also challenging to face the possibility of not moving on to the next round. Going from the qualifier, to the quarter finals, to the semi-finals, to the finals are little wins in themselves, but your day can be ended at any point. I've never felt such a spectrum of emotions as I do on a day full of sprints.
Knowing that the stakes are so high there is a constant background stress in the athletes' heads that can be temporarily soothed from a congratulations from a coach or the privilege of moving up to the next round. During the sprints at USCSA nationals I had more than background stress. This day was supposed to be my day, something I had trained a whole year for. I was nervous in every race that I started, and I feared I wouldn't find myself in the finals at the end of the day. For one of my rounds, the quarter finals, Lydia was in my heat. I was so concerned with my own performance that looking back I probably didn't offer Lydia the support that she needed in her first high stakes sprint race. I might have been a bad teammate, but she treated me with kindness in return. After our round, with our shaky legs and ragged breathing, Lydia found me and hugged me. With her hug she told me how amazing it was to race with me. She had followed me around the course letting my coach her just like it was an extra technique practice.
I wanted to cry as she told me all of these kind things about the experience we just had together. We had spent a whole ski season together, but this culminating event made me feel more close to her than I had before. English might have been a barrier for Lydia and I, yet she was able to tell me in the most beautiful way how happy she was that we had the chance to race together.
As I reflect on this moment, I realize that Lydia showed me the importance of having great teammates. In the sprint races I was so trapped in what I was going to do, yet Lydia saw the whole picture and made sure to give me the verbal persuasion that I needed in that moment to feel confident in my own performance. Thank you Lydia for sharing that sprint race with me and giving me a pep talk that I will look back on for years to come.
The first thing you should know about Mei is she is the most selfless person you will meet. Every single time I talked with Mei I left feeling better about myself. This is because she always wants to talk about YOU. I realized after our first couple of meetings Mei knew everything about me and could list all of my family by name and I knew very minimal things about her.
One night I decided to take Mei to Front Street and have drinks and dinner with the intent that I did not talk about myself ONCE that night. Every single tidbit of information about Mei is an incredible achievement. I learned there was nothing Mei could not do if she set her mind to it. She was older than the other SUS athletes because she was in what I understood as their national guard, she boxed, she did cheer, and she would never tell you any of that because she was always so focused on the other person. But, on this special night, key lime martini in hand, I got Mei to talk about herself. We talked about big things, what we wanted in life, who we wanted to be, and the little things like practice and team gossip. We finally got to talk about her Fiancé and what her wedding would look like (some seriously wild traditions going on there, including one where the groom has to find the bride's shoes).
The coaches did their best to pair the SUS up with alike personalities on our team, and I ended up getting paired with a mentor. I realized we share so many characteristics. One of the best ones I see in myself and Mei is our ability to move to the next thing. Mei’s life has already taken so many routes and she’s able to do it because she doesn’t dwell on the past. She leaps into the next challenge, throwing herself into it full-heartedly. I often question myself and my ability to stay committed to things, but Mei showed me it’s something to be proud of, there is no shame in tackling new challenges.
I hope Mei learned something from me because I learned so much from her. I was worried our different cultures would make it hard to really connect with our partners, but I was thankfully mistaken. That night with the key lime martinis, Mei became one of my best friends, we told each other everything and laughed late into the night. Mei helped me learn just how close we are to all the people around the world, I now know I could have best friends in every country. Mei taught me so many little and big things and I will never be able to truly thank her in a way she deserves, but I hope a couple key lime martinis was a good start.
At your home race there is the opportunity for spectators. Nordic skiing, particularly Nordic skiing in America, doesn't draw much of a crowd. Sure there are a few parents that take a weekend trip, or the families of citizen racers that stand along the course, but at your home race there are spectators there for you and your team.
It's always interesting to see the crowd that follows people to their home race. There are the parents proud to see their child racing in college. The dorm roommate that doesn't quite know what's going on, but is sure to cheer loud. Even once there were members of the UW triathlon team yelling as we skied by, because they could sympathize with not being a spectator sport.
In 2020 our home race drew a whole new crowd. Since the SUS program was created through the Kinesiology and Health Department we had a small showing of faculty and other SUS masters students that found themselves bundled up on Happy Jack's trails to watch a sport they had never seen before. Being in the craziness that came with adding ten brand new skiers to a team often made you blind to what was happening outside of that bubble. It was hard to see what we were creating when we were so deep inside, but that weekend I caught a glimpse.
The picture above shows our whole family we created. SUS and UW joined together to create a new, one of a kind, team. One of the Kinesiology faculty members took the picture as parents, citizen races, students, UW and SUS alike, cheered for what we had made. Such a hodgepodge of people from all different background yet we all had found this home that connected us together. Seeing the team and the support system that surrounds us is sometimes hard to do, but it becomes so highlighted at a home race.
Two years ago, when I learned that ten athletes from Shanghai University of Sport with no Nordic ski experience were going to join or ski team to learn to ski, I had no idea what to expect. Part of me was excited. I knew I had a lot to learn from these athletes about Chinese language and culture. Another part of me was nervous. I worried that adding 10 athletes to our tight-knit team of about 15 skiers would throw off the team dynamics that made UW Nordic feel like a family to me. I also worried that we would no longer be able to receive the attention and advice from our coaches that we all deserved.
Two years ago I could have never imagined what this experience would mean to me. Maybe I could have pictured myself cooking and eating hot pot with James, learning the Chinese words for my favorite vegetables, and running around shouting “xi lanhua!” (broccoli). Maybe I could have also imagined learning regional variations on my Chinese favorite cuss words with Andy. But there were a lot of things that surprised me about my experience skiing with the SUS athletes.
In retrospect, my fears of no longer receiving technique advice and coaching seem silly, because if anything, it was the opposite. I think back to one particular practice on a Wednesday in February. The team split into two groups: those excited and healthy enough to do intervals, and the those who preferred to ski easy and work on technique. I was feeling tired and chose the latter group along with several of the SUS skiers. Our goal for the day was to practice cornering on downhills, specifically right-hand turns. Conveniently, this was one of my weakest points as a skier. Having only recently started skiing, I got by on the strength and endurance I had built as a distance runner rather than the finesse and technique that come from years on skis. As such when, Coach Nathan asked me to demonstrate how I would ski our first corner, I was astonished and nervous. We had chosen a relatively easy corner to begin but it was a corner I had never skied particularly well before. Even though I wasn’t confident in my ability, I knew the SUS athletes looked up to me, regarding me as an experienced skier. I knew couldn’t let them down so I tried to appear confident and convince myself I could do it. I stood starting at the trail scouting out my route, took a deep breath, and took off toward the outside edge of the trail before cutting sharply in and skiing through the corner relatively gracefully. I smiled as I came to a stop and skied back toward my teammates, secretly quite proud of myself for how well I skied. That day, with every corner each athlete skied, I could see their improvement and an increase in their confidence. The confidence I could see in them boosted my own confidence as well.
I’ve always known that teaching is the best way to learn just about anything, but I’ve only recently come to understand just how powerful that can be. Being a mentor and a teammate to these athletes was so much more than I could have imagined, and I just hope their experience on this team was even half as meaningful as my own.
It was a sunny morning on January 26, and we participated in the relay race at Fraser. This competition made me very excited, because this is the first time that our SUS team has participated in the relay race. It is different from previous competitions. This relay race is 1.8km x 9 laps of skate skiing. There are three people in a team, one lap per person and then the next person. My teammates are Fredy and Dreak, we warm up together, and then carry our bags to the race venue. When we arrived at the venue, we saw that the women ’s relay race was about to start. Watching a tense and exciting game was really exciting. Maddy, Kat, and Ella were a very strong combination. They worked hard to make the game I see the blood boiling! Cowgirls are so cool! In the end they won first!
Okay, let's start our cowboys performance. I am the second player of the team and Dreak is the first player. When I saw him sliding towards me, my adrenaline soared and I went all out. Slippery, I can also see later that I tried my best on the first lap, because I was super slow LOL in the next two laps, and with Fredy's final sprint, we ended the relay race. But we did not leave, but gathered at the finish line to cheer for the last skier. After he crossed the finish line, the whole audience cheered him! I think this is the charm of sports!The team game feels different from that of the individual game. It's not so nervous, it's more exciting and happy! An unforgettable game!
The first time I felt the power of team working is in the Tetonia，1/10/2020. That's the first long distance race we attend，15classic skiing race. The weather makes the race become special and petty cold. I'm really afraid of cold. But that day I am not aware of it. When we ready to start，it began to snow，and it got bigger and bigger. The big snowflakes made us lose the direction. At that time I try to find the right track，and I heard Mei shout at me，"I can't see the track，the snow is so big". I'm ahead of her，and I shout"follow me，Mei，I can find the track". And then we skied together，when we met our coaches，Christi and Rachael，they said"good job，girls，work together". And then we know our did are right. After 5k，the snow stopped，Bur I feel pretty terrible，because my legs are so weaken. Mei said "follow me，Simona，we can do it". "Yes，I said" I just follow her，keep the same pace with her… When we finished the race，I feel very cold，and I realized the cold feeling disappear when we did the race. That's so amazing. When I follow her，I only think how to follow her，how to defeat the race. After I finished all the race，I try to recall this memory，I feel very happy，and it also make me so warm. That experience let me know the importance of team working. I think I will bring it to the career of my sport. Try to spread it with my team and my athletes. Try to let everyone had own good memory. Let them warm.